House Call
by La Raconteuse
Summary: Shawn is given a case no one else will take seriously. A man thinks that aliens are abducting his employees. Shawn is determined to find the real explanation behind the disappearances, but the more he discovers, the less crazy he finds the man's story.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"Ohhh! And the crowd goes wild!" Shawn spun victoriously in his swivel chair, having just scored a perfect goal of his wadded paper into the trash can.

"No way. You must have cheated somehow." Gus glared at Shawn as he crumpled up another paper. Shawn jumped from his chair, bewildered. "Dude, how could I have cheated?"

"I dunno, but you can't have made that shot, so you must have cheated," Gus retorted moodily. Shawn sighed with exasperation; couldn't Gus lose with dignity just once? He watched him take aim with his newly-formed paper ball, one eye squeezed shut, moving his arm back and forth as though pretending to throw in slow motion. Up it went . . . and down it tumbled several inches in front of the trash can.

"Good throw, buddy." Shawn grinned good-naturedly. Gus cleared his throat. "Yes, well, of course. Even the best miss sometimes." Shawn plopped back into his swivel chair and refreshed his email. Again. And again. He checked Facebook for notifications (Gus had liked his status) and refreshed his email one more time.

Bored! He hated being bored. Shawn longed for the Santa Barbara Police Department to give them a truly challenging case. He was convinced that Lassiter was keeping all the good cases for himself. _Well, at least in that case,_ Shawn thought, _that means we'll get them as soon as Chief Vick gets sick of waiting for him to solve them._ He didn't really mind Lassiter that badly – he just liked to push his buttons a bit – but God, that man could be so dense.

Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.

Shawn jumped a little as the phone rang. He and Gus had a small scuffle over answering it. Gus won. Shawn slouched back into his chair. Gus picked up the receiver and answered smugly, "Psych, Psychic Consulting Detective Agency. . . Yup. . . Right now? Well alright then. See you soon. Bye."

"Well?" Shawn leaned forward impatiently while Gus swelled with his important news.

"That was Juliet. Says we need to head over to the station- sounds like something big." Shawn leapt to his feet – _finally!_ "What are we waiting for?" He reached out to grab the car keys on the desk but Gus snatched them away first. "Nuh-uh, Shawn. You are _not_ driving my company car."

"Aw, c'mon, man. I'm not that bad of a driver!"

"Tell that to the headlight you busted last week."

"Oh good, you're here," Juliet greeted them cheerfully while carrying a stack of reports, "The Chief's waiting for you in her office." Shawn gave a little wave as they crossed paths. "Thanks Jules!"

"I'm tellin' you, it was an alien!" An old man was accosting Carlton Lassiter in Chief Vick's office. He had a thick head of white-gray hair and clean-shaven, turtle-like face, and he was very upset. "Oh really? An alien?" Carlton sneered, "Was he little and green?" He shook his head fervently, "No, no, he was . . . he was tall, and sort of silver, and he reached out with this long finger and- and . . ." he faltered, "and then. . ." Carlton was at a loss to respond, but at the first sight of Shawn he smiled wickedly. "Ah, here he is at last! This guy's right up your alley, Spencer." He patted his shoulder mockingly as he strode to his desk.

Chief Vick groaned and rubbed her temples. She was in no mood for Carlton's childish games today, and this man was certainly not helping.

"Hi! We're here! What's our case?" Shawn rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Chief Vick smiled wryly and gestured to the man in front of them. "Shawn Spencer, Alan Carmichael. Alan, this is our private psychic consultant, Shawn Spencer, and his partner Burton Guster." Shawn approached to shake Alan's hand, but Alan ignored him completely by turning exasperatedly to the Chief. "Look, I know how my story sounds, but I'd appreciate a little more than the bottom scrapings of the barrel."

Chief Vick's eyes flashed dangerously. "Shawn Spencer is a very accomplished detective who has solved many cases for the SBPD. You should be happy I'm assigning anyone at all." Alan muttered something frustrated under his breath and let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. Thank you."

"I have some work to do, so fill them in in the hallway, if you don't mind." Chief Vick's expression made it clear that this was not a request.

"So, Alan, tell us what's up," Shawn threw himself into Lassiter's chair and leaned his chin on his hand. Alan shifted uncomfortably. "Just know," he warned, "that I know how crazy this sounds. But I swear to God it's what I saw." Shawn shrugged and replied, "I deal with crazy stuff all the time. Lay it on me."

"I run a retail store," Alan began, "Nothing too big, had a full staff of about a hundred folks."

"Had?" Shawn raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, there's the trouble." Alan scratched the back of his head worriedly. "People are going missing, one by one. Didn't notice too much at first. People get sick and forget to call in or something, I dunno. But now twelve people are missing. Twelve! I called their families and emergency contacts, nothing. All just vanished. Except the last one. Now," Alan wiped the beginnings of a nervous sweat from his brow, "you gotta understand, this is really what I saw."

"Alan, dude, relax. Just tell me what you saw," Shawn said soothingly.

". . . there just isn't any other word for it. Alien. It just had to be." Shawn leaned forward, bemused but curious. "Everyone had left at closing time except me and a kid named David. I'd asked him to organize some stuff in one of the stockrooms 'cause he'd needed some extra hours. I peeked in to see how he was doing and I saw this . . . thing. . ." Alan gulped, about to continue, but Shawn shushed him, closed his eyes and placed two fingers at his temple. "I see . . . a tall figure . . . silver. He's reaching out for a young man . . . he has . . . a long finger."

"Yes, exactly!" Alan marveled. Gus fought very hard not to roll his eyes. "And David suddenly just turned around, and I rushed to the front of the store so they wouldn't catch me looking, and he found me and said, 'I've just realized I need to leave. Sorry, I'll finish up later.' And now he's been missing for four days!"

Shawn nodded thoughtfully. "Allow me just a moment to consult with my colleague here." He jumped up pulled Gus to the side, turning their backs to Alan.

"Shawn, we cannot take this case," Gus whispered furiously.

"Gus, the guy has got no one else to help him. Twelve missing people is kind of a big deal."

"He thinks it was an alien! How do we know he's not just jerking us around?"

"No Gus, he's telling the truth," Shawn said firmly. Gus gaped. He turned to see Alan watching them, looking less hopeful by the second. "Excuse us just a second." Gus practically dragged Shawn around the corner out of Alan's earshot and asked, "You honestly think there's an alien behind this?"

"No, but I honestly think that Alan honestly thinks that there's an alien behind this."

"So he's crazy then!"

"Twelve people are missing-"

"And how do we know that his story even has anything to do with that?" Gus demanded. Shawn smacked his forehead in frustration. "Look, clearly the missing people all have this store in common, and that's a good starting place. Alan is just telling us what he thinks he saw. That doesn't mean he's telling us what actually happened." Gus looked confused, trying to work out this new information.

"So . . ." he began hesitatingly, "what you're saying is . . . what he said he saw didn't happen." Shawn nodded encouragingly. "But . . ." his eyes widened, "he still saw it!"

"Exactly!" Shawn said excitedly, "He just didn't understand what he saw. So if we can figure out what really happened based on his story, we can find those missing people. We have the clues! It was a tall man. Something about him was silver, and he was pointing with a long object. We can make something out of that!" Shawn strode confidently back to Alan and shook his hand vigorously. "Mr. Carmichael, consider your case taken!" Alan looked amazed. "What, just like that?"

"Just like that. We're going to need to look around your store, maybe question some staff. Definitely stop off to get some smoothies, because really, who can possibly work under smoothie-less conditions?" Alan began to look worried again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Gus parked outside the Psych office, he and Shawn each exiting the car holding large pineapple smoothies. As he let them both inside, Shawn bounced ideas about the missing people: "Maybe the government is chipping people and an agent was activating a test subject. The long finger could have been a remote control!" Gus rolled his eyes. "Shawn, that is the stupidest thing I have ever-" he stopped abruptly, something in the kitchen catching his eye. "What? Gus? Hello?" Shawn snapped his fingers in front of his friend's eyes. "Hey! What is i- oh. . ." He followed Gus's gaze and was instantly stupefied.

"What is it?" he asked incredulously. Gus stepped cautiously around and inspected it. "Well," he mused, "it looks like a police telephone box from the '50's."

"What? I've never even heard of those," Shawn muttered skeptically as he set his smoothie on the counter. The box was pretty big, about the size of a large Porta-Potty. "How on earth did someone even get this through the door?" he exclaimed, surveying the area. He approached it slowly, stretching out his hand and laying it cautiously on the door of the box. His eyes widened. "Gus," he breathed, "it's vibrating. . ." His curiosity was overwhelming now; there was a sign on the door that read "Pull to Open". He grabbed the door handle and pulled hard. Nothing. Was it locked? Should he try pushing? He pushed; the door rattled a bit but refused to open, definitely locked.

"Maybe we should leave it alone for now. We have to look for clues at the store, remember?" Gus put a hand on Shawn's shoulder, steering him away from the mysterious blue box. "Right . . . yeah. . ." Shawn mumbled, throwing a last glance over his shoulder.

They closed the door behind them and drove off in the car. The door of the telephone box opened inwardly, a soft golden light spilling out. A man with big, tousled brown hair peeked out his head.

"Huh. I'm in a kitchen. I don't think I've ever landed in a kitchen before. Brilliant!" The tall skinny man grinned vivaciously and stepped into the room, making sure to shut the TARDIS door behind him. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his long, brown coat and began to whirl slowly around the room, taking in the new setting.

"Definitely an Earth kitchen. Bit boring, but nice. Oh, someone's left a smoothie," he sniffed, "Hm, pineapple. Unusual flavor. Oh look, it's an office!" He sprang to the front room and tilted his head slightly as he read the backwards words on the large window in front. "Psych: Private Psychic Detective. . ." he read aloud, another grin spreading to his face. Now that sounded interesting. "'Course, it also has the potential of being really silly and annoying. . ." he sighed. Well, only one way to find out.

_Help me. . ._

"What?" The Doctor whirled around in alarm, his face contorted in perplexity.

_Help me. . ._

"This is very not good. . ." the Doctor murmured as he swept slowly across the room, trying to trace the cry. It was definitely a sort of psychic energy pulse.

"Now, where are you coming from, eh? Ah!" He jumped as a sudden blazing heat filled his jacket's inner pocket. He fished around for a second until he withdrew the little wallet with his bit of psychic paper inside. With a puzzled frown, he opened it to find a little arrow. He took a deep breath, nodded a bit, and adjusted his tie. "Right then. Allons-y!"


	3. Chapter 3

Just a quick note – I wanted to mention how pleased I am at such quick and positive responses to the story thus far. I'm ecstatic that people are enjoying it. Also, a quick apology for how short this chapter is. But the next one will be up soon enough that I don't think anyone will mind too badly.

EDIT: I decided to combine chapters three and four. There was no reason not to, in the end.

Chapter Three

The Doctor slipped quietly out the back door, since he really wasn't supposed to be in that office and he really didn't want anyone accosting him. He wasn't too worried about the TARDIS; it was locked and he had put up the perception filter. Besides, now he wanted to meet with this "psychic detective" more than ever.

He meandered around the street, trying to look as casual as possible while listening (if you could call it that) for the frequency. "Aha," he murmured softly and stopped abruptly in order to "hear" better. He turned his head as though adjusting a loose connection. People were just beginning to give him strange looks as he suddenly strode forward, eyes burning with purpose.

The Doctor was so preoccupied following the slowly growing clamor of voices that he had completely lost track of his surroundings. "Come on, _come on_," he murmured agitatedly, "Where are you?" He found himself at the back door of what looked like an add-on to the cheap store next door, probably a warehouse of some sort. He leaned his ear against it, feeling the voices beating against it like caged beasts. He slowly pulled his sonic screwdriver from his jacket pocket and held it to the lock. A gentle buzz and a soft blue light emitted from the tip and the lock clicked open. The Doctor cautiously turned the doorknob, cracked the door open, and was mentally bowled over by the noise.

_Help me. . . Help me. . . Help me. Help me! HELP ME!_

The Doctor fell to his knees and grabbed his head, groaning at the sheer volume and desperation of the cries. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to his feet and fumbled on the inside of the doorway for a light switch – there it was – and braced himself for what he was about to see.

"_What?"_

"What's this attachment?" Shawn asked Alan. He and Gus had searched all of the back rooms and the whole of the storefront, Shawn having gone through the toy section particularly thoroughly. They were now inspecting the store's perimeter.

"That's an old storage building I never really put to use," Alan explained, "I'll go get the key." Shawn suddenly gripped Alan's shoulder and hissed, "No, look! It's open!" He pointed at the door, opened just a crack. Shawn walked toward it hesitatingly; something about that warehouse felt really wrong to him, like something terrible was lurking inside. Gus lightly touched his arm and raised an eyebrow quizzically; "Doing alright there, Shawn?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Let's take a look." He brushed the feeling aside. People broke into warehouses all the time. He ignored the shaking of his hand as he tentatively pushed the door open.

It took all of his will not to bolt on the spot; his whole body gave a spasm of horror and his stomach felt like it was trying to lift itself out of his body, shoving his heart into his throat. Gus, alarmed, tried to peek past him, but Shawn shoved him back.

"Don't look," he whispered hoarsely. He fell against the wall of the building and slid to the ground, pulling out his cell phone.

"Shawn, what did you see? Shawn!" Gus started for the door again but the look on Shawn's face stopped him cold. Shawn raised the phone to his ear, heart pounding so powerfully that he wondered how it hadn't leapt out of his chest.

"Jules? It's Shawn. We have a multiple homicide . . . and there's someone in there who's still alive."

The police cars arrived within minutes. Juliet and Carlton led a team of seven armed officers to the door. Two of them herded Shawn, Gus, and Alan behind the line of cars. Juliet made eye contact with Carlton, then signaled for the door to be thrown open. It crashed against the wall as she steadily entered the room gun-first and yelled, "Freeze!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Juliet tried very hard not to scream as she took in the full scene. The room was filled with bodies. Every single one had large, gaping holes in their skulls. No, that was wrong. One didn't. One was crouched in the center of the room, holding the blood-soaked face of one of the dead. He was gasping for breath and shuddering, eyes closed, lips moving almost silently. He didn't seem to know Juliet was even there. She inched the tiniest bit closer until she made out the words: "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She backed slowly to the nearest officer behind her and muttered, "Cuff him." He nodded and strode forward purposefully, hoping he appeared braver than he felt, and roughly pulled the stricken man to his feet. He offered no resistance as he was handcuffed, though his head drooped and he clenched his teeth.

"You have the right to remain silent. . ." the officer stuttered through the Miranda Rights as he marched the man to the police car. The Doctor was gradually becoming aware of what was happening to him; the voices were fading now and he was able to think more clearly.

_Right,_ he thought, _I'm being arrested. It's like Muswell Hill all over again, minus the tellies._ He shivered as the memory of the room started to come back to him. At first glance he'd realized what had happened. The people had been killed by something with immense power of psychic persuasion. The screams were just their afterthoughts. _Their ghosts,_ he thought bitterly. He had been so tuned into the frequency that the "ghosts'" sudden release was too "loud", too all-consuming. Clearly, that had been in mistake in more ways than one.

"Would you like an attorney to draw out the process, or do you just want to confess now?" Carlton circled restrained man in the interrogation room. He hadn't spoken a word since he'd been arrested, but since he'd come out of his trance, he seemed to be watching everyone with a certain measure of interest, which convinced Carlton even more of his guilt.

"Oh, alright. You've wormed it out of me. I confess my passionate love for yo-yo's." The man's eyes glinted merrily, though the rest of his face remained deadpan. Carlton felt his left eye twitch in uncontrollable fury. "Look here, wise guy," he growled, "I don't think you realize the trouble you're in."

"On the contrary, I don't think you realize the trouble _you're_ in," the interrogatee replied coolly. Carlton drew back and clenched his fists to keep from slugging him. He eyed the man warily, and a good, simple question suddenly occurred to him.

"What's your name?" he demanded.

"I'm the Doctor, hello!" came the strangely cheerful reply.

"That's your job, what's your name?"

"Just the Doctor."

Carlton snorted. _Just the doctor my ass,_ he thought. "We need to look you up on our database, so just give us your name," he said with exasperation. The Doctor leaned forward beseechingly; "Look, I promise you I'm not the one you're after. You've got a much bigger problem than you could ever possibly handle. You need to call UNIT and tell them that the Doctor has a situation for them."

"What the hell is UNIT? No, wait, why the hell should I trust anything you say?" The Doctor shifted a bit, gesturing with his head to his left shoulder. "In my jacket pocket you should find a little wallet with a paper in it. On that paper is the phone number for UNIT. Please, just call them," he entreated, "At the very least it can't do any harm."

"Do it, Carlton," Chief Vick's voice came from the speaker connected to the observation room. Seething, Carlton grabbed the lapel of the Doctor's coat, far more roughly than he needed to, and retrieved the wallet. There was a phone number written on the paper, just as he'd been told. He dialed it and put it on speaker phone.

"This is the Unified Intelligence Task Force," a cool man's voice stated, "Please select one of the following four options-"

"Oh, just hold the zero button, get a real person," the Doctor said impatiently. Carlton raised a skeptical eyebrow and held zero.

"UNIT helpline, which department would you like?"

"Yeah, I've got someone here called the Doctor who seemed to insist that I call you," Carlton replied moodily. The line was oddly silent for a moment. He started at the click of a transfer button.

_. . . the hell?_ Carlton thought in bewilderment.

"Colonel Anthony Stepp speaking. Is it correct that I have the privilege of speaking with the Doctor?" The Doctor raised an eyebrow at Carlton, seeking permission to speak. Carlton huffed angrily and gestured sharply for him to speak.

"Yes, hello, this is the Doctor."

"Doctor," the Col. Breathed, "oh, I can't even begin to tell you what an honor it is, sir!" The Doctor scrunched his face in annoyance. "Colonel, please tell me you didn't just salute."

". . . no. . ." he responded with hesitation.

"Ugh, right then. I'm currently in the custody of the Santa Barbara Police Department in California. Could you get a man on that for me?"

"Of course, sir. Right away, sir."

"You also might want to send some troops our way."

"Yessir!" The Doctor tried to suppress a groan as he realized he was being saluted again.

"And Colonel?"

"Yes sir?"

"_Please_ stop calling me sir."

"Yes s- I mean, er, yes." The phone clicked as the Colonel hung up. The Doctor raised an eyebrow expectantly at Carlton.

"Th-that proves nothing!" Carlton spat.

"No, I suppose not, but there should be an order for my release soon enough, will that satisfy you?" the Doctor's eyes regained their merry glint. Carlton glowered.

"Um, Detective Lassiter?" Officer Buzz McNab poked his head into the interrogation room. "There's a man here with authorization for the release of the suspect." Carlton looked as though he was ready to implode from bottled-up rage. Buzz came in and released the Doctor from his handcuffs, apologizing in as friendly a way as he could without incurring Carlton's wrath.

"Thanks mate," he grinned at Buzz and patted his shoulder heartily.

"Ah, Doctor," a tall, broad man in UNIT apparel smiled broadly, "You do manage to get yourself into trouble."

"That I do, yeah. I must say, I'm impressed, that was _very_ fast!" the Doctor sounded very pleased, and the tiniest bit curious.

"We have our methods, Doctor, just as you have yours," the man replied. The Doctor narrowed his eyes, not sure he liked the sound of that. Oh well, didn't matter, not now. Now was the time to focus on the grotesque scene in the warehouse.

"So!" he exclaimed briskly, "we have got twelve dead bodies, all killed the same way, all with brains missing, and with a psychic ghost trace left behind in their wake. What does that say to you, er. . .?"

"Parkes, sir," the Doctor winced, "Brigadier Herbert Parkes. And I'd say that we've crossed into your jurisdiction, Doctor," Herbert's eyes twinkled mischievously, "Is that about the size of it?"

"Well, you could put it that way. . ." the Doctor muttered good-naturedly.

"Excuse me!" Shawn Spencer conspicuously inserted himself into the conversation, "Did someone say something about psychics?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Hullo, who's this?" the Doctor asked amusedly.

"Shawn Spencer, psychic detective, at your service. I was the one who convinced the Chief to let you make your phone call. I had a vision saying that you were innocent."

The Doctor approached slowly and studied Shawn's face, fascinated. "That's very interesting. . ." he murmured. Suddenly he pulled back and cleared his throat, "Right! Sorry, I'm so easily distracted. Shawn, you're the one you found me, right?"

"Uh, yeah, I am." _But how do you know that?_

"Right, 'course, 'cause you're the psychic," the Doctor winked almost imperceptibly, "which means you had a reason for going to that warehouse. What was it?"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" Carlton shouted, "I'm still not convinced you're not the killer. I've never even heard of this organization that supposedly has the authority to release suspected murderers."

"There's a very good reason for that," Herbert replied with a tight smile.

"Ugh, the affairs of human government," the Doctor muttered under his breath. Shawn blinked, not sure if he'd heard wrong. "Shawn? Warehouse?" The Doctor pressed.

"Right, yeah. The store owner hired me to check out the disappearances of certain employees."

"Great, brilliant. What drew you to the warehouse specifically?"

"There was . . . a bad feeling. . ." Shawn answered carefully. The Doctor unexpectedly launched himself at Shawn; he gripped one of his shoulders, and peered into his eyes with concern. "Did you hear them?" he whispered softly. Shawn's bemused expression and delayed response was answer enough. "Bah, never mind," the Doctor muttered as he turned away. _How disappointing. Still, he might be clever._

"Right, so, missing people! Did you get any account of their behavior before their disappearance?" the Doctor looked around the room for a response.

"Yeah, actually, the store owner – Alan – told me he'd seen something weird before the last guy disappeared," Shawn said, "He said he saw an alien." Carlton rolled his eyes. The Doctor grinned, but not derisively like Shawn had expected. "Really! And what do you think?"

"Well, I'm a psychic. I can't really afford to discriminate, can I?" The Doctor's whole body radiated a fierce joy and he barked, "Ha! Good lad! So," he continued more calmly, though no less enthused, "what did the alien look like?"

"He said tall and silver, and it was pointing at the victim with something long," Shawn's words spilled out in an excited rush. Would this out-of-nowhere doctor really be able to solve his case, just like that? The Doctor nodded to himself, sat down heavily on his chair and closed his eyes in thought. Shawn thought he looked like he was flipping through an encyclopedia in his brain, sort of how he imagined himself to look when he remembered pictures in his head. _Does the doctor have an eidetic memory too?_ he wondered.

"Too much stuff in here. . ." the Doctor grumbled softly. Suddenly, he started violently to his feet, eyes snapping wide open. "There it is," he hissed to himself, gripping his tousled hair, "the message, it's drawing them in. . ."

_Come with me. . ._

Juliet burst into the room. "Shawn, Gus just suddenly left saying something about having to go do something? He sounded really strange. Do you know what he's up to?" She looked unnerved and worried.

_Come with me. . ._

"That sounds like what Alan said his employee told him before he. . ." Shawn trailed off, horrific realization spreading across his face.

"No . . . no, no, _no!_" The Doctor cried as he took off like a shot and Shawn dashed after him. Carlton stood in confusion for a moment, completely puzzled by these strange men, then grabbed Juliet and ordered, "Come on, let's go!"

"What is it, what's wrong?" Juliet shouted as they gained on Shawn and the Doctor.

The Doctor glanced at her over his shoulder, a furious determination plastered on his face. "If we don't hurry, your friend is going to be the next victim!"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The Doctor paused at a street corner, head tilted. _There! Locked on now,_ he thought. Shawn ran up beside him, panting heavily. "What exactly are we doing?" he gasped. The Doctor snapped out of his reverie, and opened his mouth to speak . . . and unable to find just the right words, he closed and opened it a few more times before responding, "We . . . are saving your friend."

"Doctor," Shawn checked to see if the detectives had caught up yet: they were far behind, so he continued, "I know that you know that I'm not psychic." An appreciative smile crept onto the Doctor's face. "You know something we don't. You hear something. I don't know if you're psychic or something else, but you're definitely something and whatever that is, it's definitely real. And I know my buddy Gus is in deep trouble," Shawn drew himself up and locked his steely eyes with the Doctor's. ". . . so you're going to fill me in on the way so I can help you as much as I can to save him." The Doctor's eyes sparked with delight. He turned and walked briskly in the direction of the signal. It took Shawn a moment to realize he was being left behind and he ran to catch up.

"I'm an alien," the Doctor said suddenly. He turned to look at Shawn and cocked an eyebrow; "Do you believe me?" Shawn struggled to keep up with the Doctor's long-legged pace, but grinned and answered, "Nah, not enough tentacles." The Doctor laughed. Then he began to walk even faster.

"Whatever has your friend is also an alien, but a different species. Not sure which one yet, but I've narrowed it down to about 512 planets."

"What, seriously?" Shawn puffed, "How do you know?"

"Humanoid, silver, advanced psychic abilities. Process of elimination. Just need to keep narrowing it down."

"So, what, you have a list in your head of every planet in the universe?"

"Well, just about."

"How?"

"Well," the Doctor grinned, "I've been to most of them. And plan to go to the rest."

"No, I mean how do you . . . you've been . . . but there's gotta be thousands of planets! That has to take forever!"

"Well I _am _over nine hundred years old now, had to spend my time doing something."

"Now I know you're joking."

"I'm not! I'm really not!" the Doctor laughed. _Getting closer now. _The thought sobered him.

"So are you like an outer space detective or police officer or something?" Shawn asked.

"Oh, no. I'm more of a . . . freelancer, really," the Doctor replied evasively. He abruptly stopped, and Shawn tried very hard not to stumble over himself as he stopped as well. "Oh look, another warehouse. He must find them convenient," the Doctor mused. "Well? Got your breath back?" Shawn didn't, but he nodded.

"Then in we go, Shawn. Allons-y!"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"_Oh,_ you're a Fyeth! 'Course you are, should've known straightaway!" the Doctor exclaimed. They had walked in to see Gus moving slowly toward what looked like a tall human completely covered in silver fur. _Grey, really, but silver's a nicer word,_ the Doctor thought.

"Lucky us that you have to rely on the power of persuasion or we'd never have caught up! Can't alarm the prey," he raised his eyebrows challengingly.

"Who are you?" the alien's voice was hoarse, as though he didn't use it often. He drifted curiously toward the Doctor, forgetting about Gus entirely.

"I know quite a bit about the Fyeth," the Doctor ignored the question, "I happen to know that Fyeths feed on each others' thoughts. They need to think to each other or starve. Whole society trusting each other implicitly in order to survive. Fantastic! But you're alone," the Doctor's voice grew hard, "and humans have latent psychic abilities at best. What's a poor Fyeth to do?"

Shawn edged quickly around the two aliens and rushed over to Gus. "Gus, snap out of it!" Shawn hissed. He smacked Gus's cheeks a few times.

"Shawn? W- weren't we just at the station?"

"Shh, I'll explain later, just be quiet and follow our lead."

"Our lead? What are you-" Shawn clamped a hand on Gus's mouth just before he screamed at the sight of the Fyeth.

"I think it's a brain-eating alien, but you're ok, this guy knows what he's doing," Shawn whispered reassuringly. Gus's eyes widened in frustrated skepticism.

"You understand then," the Fyeth rasped.

"Oh, I understand," the Doctor spat, "but I absolutely cannot allow it to continue."

"You would condemn me to death!" the Fyeth cried in despair.

"No! No I would not," the Doctor snarled, "though the families of the innocent people you've murdered might wish otherwise." The Doctor seemed overcome with a great weariness, but his eyes burned even brighter. "No, I'm going to make you an offer. Let me take you home. But if you stay here and continue what you've been doing, I'll have to stop you. I _will_ stop you. Is that completely understood?"

The Fyeth shifted uncomfortably, Shawn almost thought ashamedly, and whispered, "You say you can take me home. But you are a mere human. How is that possible?"

"I'm the Doctor. I'm a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey. I travel through all of time and space in a little blue box, and with me . . . anything is possible."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"I can't believe you decided to park your _time-travelling spaceship_ in our kitchen!" Shawn stood in front of the TARDIS shaking his head.

"It wasn't on purpose!" the Doctor protested.

"Sorry to interrupt, but you realize that this . . . _alien_ has killed twelve people! We can't just send him home with a scolding!" Gus spluttered.

"He's a child," the Doctor said. Gus blinked and said, "What?"

"He's a child. His name is Avam. He got separated from his play group and got more and more lost until he found the Earth. He was starving."

"So that makes it ok?" Gus asked incredulously. The Doctor turned on him in a rage; "The taking of life is never _ok!_ There is never an appropriate reason and there never will be!" His face slowly shifted into a grief so intense that Shawn found it painful to look at. "So tell me," the Doctor pleaded despairingly, "what should I do with this lost, starving, naive child who has _killed_ twelve people?"

"I believe that's your jurisdiction, Doctor," Brigadier Parkes replied coolly. He stood just past the threshold of the door, flanked by Juliet and Carlton. Shawn and Gus jumped.

"When the hell did you get here?" Gus demanded.

"I saw the telephone box from the window. Figured you'd be here soon enough. The detectives wanted to follow you earlier, but I had a feeling you didn't want a battalion. Not at first, if you didn't need one." The Doctor flashed a brief, but appreciative, smile.

"What are you going to tell the public, then?" he asked. The Brigadier shrugged, "We'll probably make up a serial killer and say he was killed in pursuit. It'll fit as well as anything."

"Does UNIT do this often? Cover up the truth?" Juliet asked disapprovingly. Brigadier Parkes looked at her blankly and replied, "Only when we need to." He turned and saluted; "Doctor. It's been an honor." The Doctor sighed in irritation, but gave a half-hearted two-finger salute.

"You're just leaving? That's it?" Shawn asked.

"Yup. That's it," he said.

"Ah well. My first alien adventure and I spend all the time on the sidelines," Shawn sighed. The Doctor smiled wryly.

"Isn't he your companion?" Brigadier Parkes asked. The Doctor winced and quickly replied, "Ah, no, I don't take people with me anymore."

"What, like you took people on adventures? That sounds awesome."

"That sounds dangerous," Gus corrected.

"It is," the Doctor said, "and that's why I don't take people with me anymore."

Shawn coughed to break the uncomfortable silence, then stepped forward with his hand outstretched; "It was good meeting you, Doctor. Swing by if you ever need some company." The Doctor grinned, grasping Shawn's hand, and said, "I might just do that."

He pulled the doors of the TARDIS closed behind him. Avam was sitting quietly on one of the ship's support branches, where the Doctor had told him to wait. He messed around with a couple switches and dials, ignoring him at first. He could feel Avam's overexcited emotions spilling out from his head: happy to be going home, terrified of the man who'd scolded him and was taking him there. The Doctor sighed. What a gloomy trip that would make.

"So! Avam! Ready to go home?" The Doctor asked cheerily. Avam sat up a little straighter and nodded fervently. "Great! Hold on tight!"

Shawn watched in shock as the TARDIS disappeared before him. Brigadier Parkes was smiling; "I've always wanted to hear that sound; people try to describe it to you, but there really is nothing like it. The TARDIS. . ."

_And just like that, it's over, _Shawn thought, _it still goes on for him, for the Doctor, but for us it just- ends. . ._

"We'd better be going," Juliet said softly, and pulled Carlton out the door with her. Shawn gave her a half-wave, still staring at the spot where the TARDIS had been. Gus shook him; "Shawn, snap out of it!" Shawn blinked. He turned to grin at Gus and said, "We just saved the city from a brain-eating alien. I dunno about you, but I'm starving, and I think we alien-thwarting heroes deserve some tacos."

That wasn't too bad for a first fanfic! Probably. Well, you tell me. There's definitely stuff I could have done better, but I'm proud of what I did well. Thanks to everyone for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the story!


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